


Into the Den

by Aondeug



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, narrative poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-08
Updated: 2016-11-08
Packaged: 2018-08-29 22:32:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8508067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aondeug/pseuds/Aondeug
Summary: The battlefield is no place for idealistic optimism. Sadly Angela has yet to have her wings ripped off. Ana has though.





	

Where has she gone?

All the others are in line,

Mother bear knows.

Three there,

Two here,

One down,

But she is missing.

 

An inquiry goes through

Over channels

Fierce and loud

Because one isn’t lining up

And it’s  _ that  _ one.

 

“Tariq is down, hold on” she says

Fervidly praying, breathing heavy

And there she is.

Anywhere but where she should be,

So easy to find, far too easy.

 

Swearing, scolding

No time for kindness,

Lost, another child lost

And another may be lost,

The most precious one here.

 

Scathing scoldings go ignored

Too naive, too proud

A child hoping to kill death

Though she calls that barbaric.

Reformed, remade, reborn

But never killed.

 

And there’s another,

Another cub but not hers

Carelessly walking on

Not aware of the foe in his midst,

Of her child, the fool.

 

But she notices, thank God

But she freezes up, damn God.

Frozen, still, just as feared

No gun in hand

Shaking, shivering,

Breathing so hard.

 

“Don’t hesitate,”

The cry goes through

But this too is ignored.

A gun in hand at last

But unused, unfired

Shakily held with weak grip.

 

Yet a shot rings out,

Another notch for the rifle

And another cub protected,

The most precious one.

 

He’s fallen and she’s fallen

Him in death, her in shock

And again the cry is made

“Don’t hesitate”

And again it fails

For she’s truly a cub

Naive child hoping, praying

Failing.

 

The mother rushes out

Cursing and pushing away curses.

“We need her, Morrison” she says.

“I need her,” she does not.

Out from hiding,

Rushing, running, and, yes,

Praying.

 

Still so shaken,

Still too still

She is grabbed

Pulled, tugged,

Yanked up to her feet

And dragged away

Hastily hidden.

 

Harsh words hurriedly spoken

As she is thrust down

Not in anger but in fear

And tears flow

And the words stop. 

Scowling the bear sits,

Fearing even now in the den.

 

Quiet falls

Deafening, painful

Jack shut off

Others mollified

And she does not speak

Only watches

Watching, eyeing on hatefully

Glaring as Mother carves another.

One more life, one more line

And she doesn’t understand

Only judges quick and fast,

Ever the idealist.

  
And that stings more than death’s threat.


End file.
